Hearing Cora Rivers was taping a guest spot on the cop show Windfall, Kitty opted out of Mitch’s one Friday night, curious to see what a movie star looked like in the flesh.
Emma was first to exit the telephone room that evening; the others followed like ducks. “You know you don’t get paid to stay.”
Kitty pushed in her station chair. “I don’t mind.” Kitty needed a greater distraction than Mitch’s. She was still reeling from the news of the acquittal of Emmett Till’s murderers that day. Nothing swayed the conscience of the all-White male jury, who took less than an hour to decide.
“I don’t work even a moment for free.” With a huff, Emma led the line out the door.
Others must have felt similarly, or were uninterested, because Kitty was the only staff member in the designated spot on the side of the stage. She was watching the assistant director, a short, balding man named Johnny Wish, make last-minute adjustments to the camera blocking when a trail of smoke wafted into her nose. A petite, blond woman was standing too close behind her. Her proximity caused Kitty to stumble back over the cords coiled on the wing of the stage.
The woman reached to steady Kitty by the waist. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Her hand went to her chest. “Lucy Schmitt.” She tugged on her earlobe, engulfed by a diamond earring. The pair matched the crispness of her white-collared button-up shirt and were the center of attention with her ear-length blond hair tucked back. She wore no makeup, not even lipstick, and had the smoothest skin.
“Kitty Karr.”
Still standing too close, Lucy put the cigarette to her mouth and spoke out of one side. “Want one?” She coughed a little, trying to exhale and speak at the same time.
Kitty hesitated. “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“Trust me, it won’t begin for another thirty. I do the makeup for the show.”
“Do you?” Kitty regretted questioning her but was surprised to meet a woman on set doing something other than acting.
Lucy didn’t seem offended. “Let’s have a smoke outside.” Kitty followed her through the curtains and out of a side door to the alley between stages A and B. Kitty shivered, wishing she’d brought her jacket from the phone room. She hated how cold it got at night in Los Angeles; even in the dead of July you needed a sweater once the sun set. In Winston, jacket weather didn’t start until late September.
“What do you do here?” Lucy leaned against the brick stage.
“Telephone operator.”
“Isn’t it terrible?” Lucy tilted her head back to a ninety-degree angle and blew out a long stream of smoke. Kitty would later learn that Lucy loved to look at the stars because they reminded her to keep her mind on God.
Unguarded, Kitty said, “I hate it.”
“But at least you’re on the lot.” She handed Kitty a Lakes original.
“And it does pay well,” Kitty said.
Lucy flicked her cigarette ash. “A lot of things pay well; doesn’t mean you want to do them. You’ll survive the phone room. It’s where everyone starts.”
“You too?”
“No. I came in with Cora. Cora Rivers.” Lucy paused for an acknowledgment and then said, “The actress?”
Kitty rushed her exhale to answer. “Yes.”
“Cora had an audition, I did her hair and makeup, and ta-da!”
While Cora floated from studio to studio for background and chorus gigs, Lucy built her career offstage. She was responsible for bringing to life some of the studio’s most iconic characters; she was as much of an institution at Telescope as any of the men.
“Did you always want to work in the movies?” Kitty asked.
Lucy touched the top of her hair, disrupting her middle part. “Yes, but I was going to be a hairdresser.”
“How long have you been working here?”
“Ten years—since I was about your age.”
“How old do you think I am?” Kitty wanted to approximate Lucy’s age.
“Barely twenty.”
“I just turned eighteen on the nineteenth,” Kitty said.
“Well, happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” Kitty hadn’t told anyone about her birthday, because it coincided with the first day of the Emmett Till murder trial. It was easier for the day to pass without a fuss. Besides, there was no cake, no tradition. She wondered if her grandmother had known not to bake one that year.
“Why aren’t you doing hair here?”
Lucy fingered the egg-sized ruby-and-yellow-gold brooch on the lapel of her shirt. Distracted by the sparkling of her earrings in the stage lights, Kitty hadn’t noticed it before.
“Ever had something bad happen, and suddenly you hate something you used to love?” Lucy asked.
Kitty fumbled one of her earrings, thinking about Cottonwood. “Yes.”
“It’s like that with me and doing hair. What I liked was helping people feel their best, and being a makeup artist fulfills that need. I can make anyone look like anything. What do you want to be?” Lucy tried to guess, rocking back on the heels of her brown two-inch suede pumps. “An actress?” She smiled as if she knew she was right. “Of course, you’d be perfect.”
Kitty was beginning to think acting was her destiny, the way people kept pegging her for it. “It seems near impossible.” Casting was the busiest department; half of the studio’s daily calls were about auditions that resulted in long lines of hopefuls spilling out of the studio gates. Emma and the other operators boasted that they were better catches, having worked before they got married and choosing to rest their laurels on more than their looks. Kitty’s interest in acting would ostracize her, despite their equally measured husband quests.
“By standing in the casting line, yes; by working here, no.” Lucy rocked on her heels again.
“I don’t know how long I can keep answering phones.”
“Not long at all if you keep coming to set. You’ll meet directors and casting directors.”
“How long have you been working on Windfall?”
“A month. We were in the middle of filming The Misfits when everything was put on hiatus.”
“At least television is going again.”
That meant nothing to Lucy. “Telescope is a film studio, and we’re not making films. The Misfits was a shoo-in for the Oscars. The longer things are on hold, the worse morale will get. And Nathan Tate doesn’t have to worry about having an income. It’s elitist.”
“Do you think there will be more layoffs?”
“The whole studio could be shut down if our new boss isn’t careful.” Lucy tossed her cigarette to the ground and opened the studio door. “Shall we?”
* * *
Cora got laughs as a ditzy housewife hiding a dead body in her basement. Lucy kept whispering to Kitty about how gifted Cora was. Kitty had never cared for slapstick humor; she’d witnessed too much humiliation to find self-deprecation amusing.
Cora’s black hair and blue eyes likened her to Snow White. Somehow Kitty had pictured her as a blonde.
Cora found Lucy on the side of the stage after the show. “How did I do?” She towered over Lucy (and Kitty) but deferred to Lucy as though she was a child.
“Great as usual.” Lucy looked at Kitty. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”
“Very much.”
Cora looked at her but made no expression.
“This is Kitty Karr,” Lucy said. “She’s the only staff member who came tonight.”
“Imagine that.” Cora took Kitty’s hand, still neglecting to introduce herself.
Kitty got the feeling she expected her to know her name. “Nice to meet you.”
Cora dropped Kitty’s hand and called over her shoulder to Lucy, “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
“Meet you at the car.” Lucy turned to Kitty with an apologetic face. “She’s under a lot of pressure right now.”
“About The Misfits?”
“She’s doing guest roles to keep her acting muscles strong.” She whispered this time. “She’s being dramatic, if you ask me; she doesn’t really have to work.”
“Her husband?” Kitty pretended not to know about Abner.
“Her father. She lives in a huge house in the hills above Sunset. Old money.” Her eyes suggested ill-gotten gains. Kitty thought she was going to elaborate, but instead Lucy dismissed her. “It was so nice to meet you. Come back anytime. We’re here rehearsing all week.”
On her exit, Johnny stopped her. “Fill this out and bring it back.”